The ordinary is the magic.

The Maestra

Like a demented maestra, she orchestrated the household. Her dresses, made by her own arthritic hands, were worn at the belly from years of wiping and toiling. Pockets were weighed down by More cigarettes, tissues, cough drops and bobby pins. Coughing fits, generated by inhaling toxins and exacerbated by fierce yelling, were commonplace. Her ashes would grow longer as her cigarette hovered between her lips, saliva keeping it glued on while she scolded us. As she walked by the squish squish of her square orthopedic shoes made me hold my breath, hoping that I wouldn’t be the next victim. The air as she she passed smelled of smoke, loss and broken dreams. Complaints never ceased; she was exhausted, underappreciated and worn out. After all, holding hostages was no easy task.

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Allow Me to Introduce Myself…

There are lots of celebrities that hog most of the spotlight. But there are many everyday stories of people and experiences which deserve the same attention, no matter how ordinary. My name is Jeanne, and I like the tell the stories of the rest of us. No matter how un-flashy they seem, they are what make the everyday, well, extraordinary.

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